They slip right out. Slithering and escaping from between my lips before I can even seem to clamp my mouth shut.
Hurtful words. Words that would wound my very heart of they were said about me.
No one outside of my home would ever realize I could speak this way. Such mean and damaging phrases. Yet, I use them, in anger, on my family.
There are times I shut off the flow. Successful in averting the wrath. Other times, sadly, I just don’t care. I’m angry. I let it pour out unhindered.
I often ask myself after these times of ugliness, how a loving mother could treat her own children in this manner. Why do I let my frustration and anger get the best of me. I teach them to just walk away and cool down when they feel the hot surge of anger rising. Why don’t I take my own advice.
Instead I end up yelling. Damaging and hurting those that are so close to my heart.
It’s at those times I know the devil must be doing a victory dance, because once again I’ve let him have the upper hand. He has controlled my mind and mouth, filling me up with atrociousness.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to apologize to my children. Too many to count. Too often for my momma’s heart to want to admit.
Psalm 19:14 says,
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.
It’s hard to fail. To know I haven’t pleased the Lord with my words and thoughts. It hurts when you know your words have inflicted pain. It is never easy to look within and see an ugliness there that is usually so easy to hide away.
I can choose to bury it and pretend to have it all together. Or I can let it out into the open. Share my failings. Open my heart. Show the imperfection.
I am guilty of using my words to wound.
I am guilty of causing my children to cry because of harsh words.
I am guilty of placing a crushed and wounded look on my children’s faces because I poured forth anger and damaging statements.
I am guilty.
Thankfully, I serve a forgiving Father. One who takes away my guilt. One I can turn to when I have messed up. One who strengthens me. One who can help fill my heart and mind with words of love and comfort and steady discipline, when needed.
Thankfully, I have forgiving children. Who know I am not perfect. Who I can turn to with tears running down my cheeks and repent of my erring ways. Who in turn enfolded me in their sweet childish arms and sooth my heart with words of endearment.
I am forgiven!
My children, my loves, who love me even when I am unlovable. My treasures from God.
May I fill them up with words of encouragement, love, and appropriate correction. May they see in their failed mother, a heart that truly loves them even in the hard, trying moments.
Oh Lord, let it be so.